Assassination at the Assembly Room Ball
by agirlnamedgeorge
Summary: Pride and Prejudice and Murder. A series of murder mysteries that follow the timeline of the book, but greatly expand on the events by adding a lot of dead bodies.
1. Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a British novel, beloved for centuries, can only be improved upon by the addition of a body, or several. What follows is a series of murder mysteries that occur over the course of the events of Pride and Prejudice. It is a convention of fan fiction to eschew ownership of the characters contained within. But don't we all own Elizabeth and Darcy? Regardless, if you are not intimately familiar with their creation, close your computer, smartphone or tablet and get thee to a bookstore or library and read some real Jane Austen immediately. Or keep your tablet open and buy an e-copy. _Pride and Prejudice_ is free.

Everyone was in high hopes of what the new party to the neighborhood would bring, and as a result, when the party in question entered the Assembly Ballrooms all fell silent and turned to see the newcomers. Elizabeth Bennet was standing beside her good friend Charlotte Lucas, and after some quick calculations whispered to her friend, "only four gentlemen and two ladies, after all?" In the days preceding the Assembly the supposed numbers of the expected party had swelled to contain just under a dozen ladies and half as many men.

"Yes," said Charlotte, who had the advantage of Elizabeth in having been introduced to at least some of the party previously. "The fair man is Mr. Bingley and the two ladies are his sisters. The eldest is married to Mr. Hurst who is one of the other men."

"The tall man?" asked Elizabeth quickly.

"No," Charlotte responded, and as Elizabeth smiled, said "Mr. Hurst is the shortest of the men." She continued explaining the occupants of the party, "the tall lady is Miss Bingley and will keep house for her brother. One of the other men is supposed to be a very close friend of Mr. Bingley's. A Mr. Darcy from the north. However, I had not heard of a sixth member of the party, and I am not certain which one he is, or who another man could be."

At this point, Elizabeth's mother was waving her second eldest daughter over without a care for subtlety, and Elizabeth gladly went, understanding that though Mrs. Bennet had spent the entirety of the last fortnight bemoaning her state of ignorance when it had come to their new neighbors, she was now no doubt in possession of the best intelligence gossip could afford within five minutes of the Bingley party's entrance.

Elizabeth expected to hear more news of the illustrious Mr. Bingley, but it was the Mr. Darcy from the north who her mother was currently most concerned with. "£10,000 a year, and look how tall he is!"

"Oh, so Mr. Darcy is the tall gentleman?"

"Oh yes, Lizzy, have you not been listening to anything I have been telling you."

"But who is the other man, the sixth member of the party?"

"Mr. Hurst?"

"No, the man with the short hair."

"Oh, I haven't any idea. He cannot be so important if I have not heard of him, but it wouldn't do to be rude to him. Perhaps he is a wealthy man of trade like your uncle. Come now Lizzy, they are coming over, and you must look your best. Oh, now where are your sisters?"


	2. Chapter 2

For Mrs. Bennet, any of her daughters sitting out for any dance at a ball was taken as a personal affront. However, in this instance as Mr. Bingley, his friend Mr. Darcy, and the sixth mystery guest approached, Mrs. Bennet was bemoaning the fact that her two youngest daughters were at that moment engaged in dancing. But she consoled herself with the presence of her eldest daughter Jane, who took her place beside her moments before Sir Lucas, Charlotte's father and the master of ceremonies for the ball began leading the gentlemen towards Mrs. Bennet and three of her daughters, as Mary Bennet had also joined her mother and older sisters, though of the presence of her middle daughter, Mrs. Bennet barely took note.

Sir Lucas began the introductions with Mr. Bingley to Mrs. Bennet, and though he would have liked to have completed his duty by introducing the other two gentlemen as well, he was twice interrupted. First by Mr. Bingley, who was eager, though all that was proper and polite when he immediately engaged Jane Bennet as his partner for the next two. But Sir William's role was usurped entirely by Mrs. Bennet who began speaking to the tall Mr. Darcy before any proper introductions could be made.

"And do you sir, also like to dance, for we have many pretty partners here," she said, passing over Mary who stood beside her, and nodded significantly at Elizabeth. Elizabeth smiled slightly. She could have been mortified, but life was far too short to let a stranger upset her so when she was so accustomed to her mother's antics. She had also been studying the third gentleman, if he could be called that. He was dressed the part, but it struck Elizabeth that there was something ominous about the man, his features and expression, though both pleasing seemed to mask a harshness lurking underneath.

Mrs. Bennet, who is often characterized as oblivious, was always quick to note when one of her daughters paid attention to a man who was potentially of means, and thinking to help further the cause, spoke directly to the mystery man, saying, "and we have not been introduced, preventing me from properly welcoming you to our neighborhood." She did not seem concerned that she had not in fact been introduced to Mr. Darcy either. Knowing his name and income had been enough for her to consider him a firm acquaintance. The unknown man looked on the verge of providing an answer when Mr. Darcy broke the silence he had carefully maintained since entering the room.

"No madam, we are not inclined to dance at this time," he responded to her previous question, curtly, before giving the mystery man a significant look and quickly turning on his heel and walking across the room. Elizabeth, watching him would have described it as stalking more than walking. The third gentleman made direct eye contact with Elizabeth for a moment and seemed to smirk, before he turned to follow Darcy. Elizabeth, though caught between being mildly affronted and mildly amused by the behavior of the two men, was nonetheless intrigued by whatever the connection was that led one to follow the other so closely. And evidently the rude Mr. Darcy was a born leader, or just gained followers by being extremely rich, for Mr. Bingley, after flashing an apologetic smile that included all four ladies, but lingered especially on Jane, went to follow the other two gentlemen for the remainder of the current set, to wait out the time until he could collect Jane for the dances to which he was most looking forward.

The dance continued. Bingley danced his two with Jane, and then moved on to the next sister in precedence, her next youngest sister Elizabeth, who's dancing he also quite enjoyed, because she was an accomplished and pleasing dancer, and too because she obliged him in speaking mostly of activities that she and her older sister most liked to engage in.

After his dance with Elizabeth, he danced with Miss Lucas, and then between subsequent sets he saw the two single gentlemen with whom he had arrived standing in a corner, surveying the room, and felt it as a failing as their host that they might be enjoying the evening's entertainments with less enthusiasm than himself, and so approached the two men, in the hopes of convincing them to dance. "Come gentlemen, you ought not be standing about in this stupid manner. I will not have it. Your time could be much more agreeably engaged would you take a partner to dance."

The man who's name we still did not know looked like he would be amenable to this suggestion, but Darcy scowled. "Your sisters are both currently engaged. And in an assembly such as this it would be a punishment to have to stand up with any other woman in the room." The other man kept his mouth closed, resigned that Darcy's answer would also have to serve as his.

"Oh Darcy," Bingley replied, "I wouldn't be as fastidious as you for all of your good fortune. I am certain I have never met with kinder people in my life, and you must admit, some of the girls are uncommonly pretty."

Darcy let a small, indulgent smile break through his stern mien for a moment. "You Bingley, have been dancing with the only pretty girl in the room, and you'd do best to return to her smiles."

"Darcy, she is a marvel, but you are missing the rest of her room. Why look, there is one of her sisters. She is very pretty as well, very agreeable, and she dances quite well. Shall I introduce you?"

The third gentleman now seemed like he would now talk, perhaps claiming that if Darcy did not care for the introduction and possible resulting dance, he would gladly take it, but Darcy glared at him in silence for a moment before turning his head towards the sister to which Bingley referred.

Though Elizabeth and Mary were sitting beside each other, obliged to sit out of the current set by a lack of partners, Darcy assumed as a matter of course that Bingley meant Elizabeth and not the plainer Mary. He studied her, and then made eye contact. Elizabeth had uncommonly fine ears, and so though across a crowded ballroom, nonetheless heard Darcy's response.

"She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me. You are wasting your time with us Bingley, I am in no mood to give consequence to young ladies who have already been slighted by other men."

Bingley sighed in defeat and went to seek out Jane to try and further conversation between sets while Darcy turned back to his steadfast companion. Elizabeth was hurt, though she could not say whether it was her pride or vanity which was most damaged. But when faced with any hurt, she decided to meet it as she always did, with good humor, and so rose and walked quickly across the room to her friend Charlotte, who also was not dancing but had been standing beside her father near the entrance to the ballroom.

Elizabeth passed close to Darcy as she crossed the room, and as she did, she flashed him a brilliant smile and arched brow. Whether it was this expression or first experiencing Elizabeth at some nearness which caused the stab of regret he felt, he could not be certain, but regret was felt.

While Sir William left his daughter and her friend to happily return to his duties of making introductions and facilitating dance partnerings, Elizabeth whispered all of the interactions which had passed between her and Darcy. If she embellished the tale at all, it was only to increase the humor of the story, and she gladly did so, though it came at her own expense. The two women smiled and laughed quietly and kept glancing over at Darcy, who's attention was now entirely upon these two ladies, and found that the looks raised an embarrassment in him of a kind he'd never before felt. Elizabeth had just completed a spirited impression of Darcy's cutting comment when a loud scream from the street could be clearly heard over the music, and people from the ballroom immediately began to spill into the street. Elizabeth and Charlotte being closest to the door were the first to arrive in front of the Assembly Rooms, and Darcy, who had been assiduously paying attention to the activities at the entrance, and used his height to his advantage, crossed the room quickly and was not far behind those two ladies.


	3. Chapter 3

The ballroom's occupants spilled out onto Meryton's main thoroughfare that ran in front of the inn that housed the assembly rooms. The chaise and four, certainly the finest carriage of anyone's in attendance, still stood parked in the space closest to the door. The horses had not been removed from the carriage, and everything stood at the ready, as though in preparation for the owners to make a fast getaway. Except that the coach's driver, the reins still in hand, dressed in the finest of livery, providing even more of a contrast of elegance than the Netherfield party itself, dressed so finely in fact, that his appearance bordered on satire, sat listing over on the bench, his head lolling. Blood poured freely from his neck, the man's throat had been slashed open. The flow of blood, which seemed never-ending was silent, as the red rivulets ran onto the bench, and spilled noiselessly into the dirt, where it pooled faster than in it could seep into the dry dust.

Had there been a victim's cry at the attack, or a gurgle as the first blood spilled forth, that was past, for all was silent now. But the arrival on the scene of the ball-goers, did follow so closely on the heels of the event that everyone, from the merrymakers in the street who had been displaced from the Inn's pub, to footmen and stablemen waiting at the ready, all stood in perfect silence and stillness, all eyes fixed on the tableau the macabre chaise and four presented. The only sound that had been thus far presented was the scream of the scullery maid who had stepped into the street to empty a basin of cleaning water, and presumably been the first to become aware of the grisly scene, besides the driver and his killer. It was her single night-rending scream which had alerted the finer people of Meryton to some commotion and led their exodus from the ballroom. She now was still and silent too, in a half-faint, being only part held up by two grooms who were paying more mind to the macabre vision than the woman they had seemed in the process of assisting.

In fact for that brief moment between when those who were in attendance at the ball standing closest to the door stood in the street, quietly taking in the coachman's violent death, before the second wave of Meryton's more successful stepped out, it might have seemed to be an otherworldly sort of stillness. That is except for the four horses, as one would occasionally shake his head, another let out a soft neigh, providing those few moments with the only sound and movement. Of this, Darcy took quick note. The horses stood neither at attention nor in disregard. They were in the posture of calm waiting that any well trained carriage horse would assume when hitched onto a chaise at the ready, completely unaware that they were without a driver, or any other sort of impediment holding back on their reins. And this itself was rare, thought Darcy. Had the murder been committed so quietly that even the horses inches away were not conscious of any panic or violence?

And even now, what of the smell of blood? For Darcy had enough experience of both that metallic scent and horses to know that in general there was no surer way to spook a horse. His eyes narrowed as he watched the mundane complaisance of the four horses, which in this unusual set of circumstances became out of place. Whether it was pride or vanity, he did believe himself in possession of an uncommonly heightened sense of smell, but he would not need that to be aware of the strong, specific odors. Even from 15 paces away, that very specific scent was asserting itself above the stable smells of straw and manure, wood smoke and decaying leaves that were hallmarks of any small market town on an early autumn night, and on this night were joined by the celebratory scents of cinnamon and ginger that spilled out from the open door leading to the celebration. Yes, the calm of the horses was odd.

Elizabeth, who just prior to the maid's scream had been stationed closest to the door, having found two good friends to further perfect the diverting tale of her wounded vanity, until another diverting topic could be found, had been one of the first out of the assembly rooms, and followed quickly by several more had been pushed to the very front of the scene with the two Lucas girls to whom she had been conversing. As a result, she stood a good deal closer to the body than Darcy's 15 paces. Additionally, she considered it neither pride nor vanity to own that in addition to a very good sense of hearing, her eyes also possessed an uncommonly fine power of sight. It was just an accurate sketch of her person to say as much. And so between her proximity and that excellent ability to see, she found herself staring at one particular point of the coach driver's person.

Of this, Darcy also observed, directly after making his assessment of the oddness of the state of the horses. As his own eyes, which possessed powers that were not at all out of the uncommon way, but were nonetheless more than sufficient, found themselves settling on Miss Elizabeth's fixed gaze, and following it, he could not perceive what it was she saw so extraordinary that it would cause her to stare so. It did not seem she was looking at the throat, the origin of all that blood, nor what is always the distressing sight of a dead man's face, nor was it the entirety of a dead man sitting on a coach box. Rather her eyes were pointed at a point on the body somewhat lower, close to the hand or arm. Darcy carefully studied as near as he could determine to where the eyes of Miss Bennet seemed to be affixed. He wondered if she could see something clenched in the former driver's hand, but all he could see there were the reins, though he determined he would examine the hands more closely.

Turning back to Miss Elizabeth's arrested gaze he then considered that she was perhaps in shock. Unfortunately that too was something which Darcy had had prior experience to witness, and it would make sense that presented with the horror of the scene, as one of the symptoms of having gone into shock she would fix on a random point which was marked only by being not the most dreadful part. This conjecture caused him to realize how unseemly and inappropriate it was for any ladies to be present at this scene at all and moved to walk the few steps towards the three ladies closest to the bloody coachman, when he paused again.

He was still looking at Miss Elizabeth's face, and he had to own that though she stood still, her face showed none of the symptoms of shock. Her countenance displayed neither complete lack of emotion, nor heightened emotions moving swiftly. Rather she seemed to be in the pose of one in deep contemplation. And as he continued to watch her, he observed her tilting her head slightly to the right, as though trying to make something out, further emphasized by an elegant arch forming in her raised left eyebrow. She then frowned slightly, creating a very subtle furrow between her brows and across her smooth forehead. Finally, her eyes narrowed, in an expression that bore a striking resemblance to the very same one which Darcy made whenever he observed something which did not quite fit. Of course, never having made that expression while looking into the mirror he was unaware of any similarity, but his own face once again settled into that doubting squint as he continued to watch the expressions move rapidly across Miss Bennet's face, expressions which he had to own were quite sensible for a crime scene.

Recalling himself, he shrugged. Regardless of shock or good sense, a scene of murder was still no place for a lady, and he took a step towards Miss Bennet and the two Miss Lucases, just as the second wave of ballroom dancers stepped into the street and the spell of quiet stillness was broken.

The commotion would have seemed entirely past, as the only sound was the intermittent gasps, as another ball-goer stepped out into the cold air, as presented with the grisly tableau before them, and then fell silent before the bloody scene of death.


	4. Chapter 4

The reader should not be faulted should they assume that it would be the hysterics of Mrs. Bennet which broke the calm quiet that reigned in the wake of murder. But it was in fact the shout of the almost always amiable Charles Bingley which pierced the silence. Having just finished his second set of dances with Jane Bennet, He'd been at the end of the line, and furthest from the door. Stepping into the street, with the fair Miss Bennet by his side, he recognized his coach and his bloody, dead coach driver (whom he'd previously seen neither bloodied nor dead). And then he recognized Darcy, standing close to the unpleasantness, and the only moving figure, who at that moment was approaching three young ladies who were disturbingly close to all that blood.

"Good God, Darcy, the ladies must be removed from here at once!"

This time Darcy didn't pause, and continued moving towards the three women, but he registered he'd heard his friend by slightly turning down the corners of his mouth. The spell indeed was broken, and what once was many people calm and quiet, became a disordered panic, filled with much noise.

Bingley would often congratulate himself on being a man, who once he had determined on a course of action, would always act quickly in bringing about that course of action. Between himself and his friend, it was Darcy who was more the man of action, but with the caution he always took, and the careful consideration he viewed each situation prior to taking any action, it would be easy to think that attribute belonged more to Bingley. And never was that distinction clearer than in this instance, when Darcy found Bingley quite settled on a course of action, that was at cross-purposes to what he would elect to do.

For Darcy, the priority was to secure the scene, call the magistrate and then interview any witnesses while the scene was still fresh. Additionally, he was more concerned with removing one male guest from the scene than he was in protecting the delicate sensibilities of the ladies of Meryton. Immediate danger seemed past, Bingley, however cared only about removing the ladies from the scene, doing so with haste, but also ensuring that all ladies were accompanied by a male guardian, preferably armed.

As Sir Lucas was the magistrate, there was no need to call, but as Darcy looked over at the normally cheerful fellow, observing the greenish cast to his complexion, he did not have trust in that man properly being able to carry out his duties, particularly that of securing the scene.

Meanwhile Bingley was placing his two sisters and Mr. Hurst into the second chaise. They'd fortunately opted to come in more than one conveyance at the insistence of the two sisters in order to prevent the dresses from being crushed. He was also trying simultaneously to oversee the Bennet ladies into their carriage, and was about to ride off with them, as they had no male companion when Darcy stopped him.

"Bingley, I should like you to help me secure the scene."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. I must see the Bennet ladies home. Their father did not accompany them. I'm sure Sir Lucas is up to the task, and John Lucas can take his place in securing a safe return for the ladies of his family."

Darcy scowled and took a long look at the other remaining man of his party, who had not spoken since the discovery of the body, but also seemed uncommonly uninterested in all that passed around him. "Bingley, I really think it would be best if Smith and I were to depart at once, and you can help Sir Lucas secure the scene until I have returned."

"You're being absurd Darcy, the Bennet ladies must have protection, there is a murderer about. You and Smith ought to render any assistance to Sir Lucas, if you feel that to be the most necessary course of action."

"Bingley, I must insist. If you are adamant about the Bennet ladies having accompaniment, then I shall offer it myself, Smith will ride with your sisters back to Netherfield to offer further protection, and I shall return here and relieve you of your duties as soon as I have completed my task."

Bingley was about to object again, but from somewhere, a groom seemed to appear out of nowhere, and handed Darcy the reigns to two horses. Sometimes a small handful of coins can appear to have powers that are purely magical. Darcy handed off one of the horses to the man he and Bingley had called Smith, and leaned in to whisper a few words, the expression on his face severe. Smith mounted and followed after the carriage to Netherfield without further communication, while Darcy turned his horse to the carriage containing the Longbourn ladies. He mounted his carriage, but then turned his horse back to Bingley for a moment. The normally biddable Bingley was actually scowling at him, finding Darcy's high-handedness, in this instance, disagreeable. But as Darcy turned his horse he relaxed his face, in anticipation of an apology for which all would be easily forgiven now that all the ladies were headed to safety. There was no apology forthcoming, however.

"Your horses, was it you who acquired them?"

"My horses?"

"Yes, your four that pulled the coach. Did you purchase the horses? Are they of your stable. I don't recognize them, but perhaps you bought them before coming to Netherfield."

"Well yes, at summer's end. I was at Tattersall's. I'd been going each Monday to try and find something suitable for the country. Now that you mention it, I received an uncommonly good price for all four. They weren't on auction, but a man offered them to me for a number I could not refuse. I became suspicious, as it really was too low for what appeared to be such fine animals, but he explained he needed to move them fast and preferred not go through the auctions. I'd have thought them stolen, but who goes to Tattersall's with stolen horses. He had the proper paperwork, too. But Darcy, my God, why are you having me speak of horses. The ladies must be seen home, and if you won't take them I will."

Darcy made no reply, instead turning back to the carriage containing the Bennet ladies and instructed their driver to turn for home, with all haste. Before the sound of the horses pulling the carriage in motion drowned out the voices within, Darcy clearly heard a shrill voice, "the nerve of that man, giving orders to my driver." And then in a deeper, more pleasing voice, "Mama, he only means to see us safely home. It's very good of him."


	5. Chapter 5

At the same moment the carriage stopped in the drive in front of Longhorn, Darcy dismounted from his horse, and before any servants could come to the carriage's door, he had pulled down the step himself and was helping the six ladies exit. All took his hand to step down, although Mrs. Bennet inexplicably let out a sigh that sounded a lot like displeasure as she placed her fingers in his hand. As soon as he'd pulled open the carriage's door, he'd been assailed by the noisiness of ladies chattering, which continued as the ladies entered the house. The three who walked in the middle, Mrs. Bennet, and her two youngest, were by far the loudest. Last out of the carriage was Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She held her hand high as she rested her fingers in his palm, and kept her face straight ahead towards the house's front door as she descended from the carriage.

As soon as one foot was on the stones of the drive, she raised her hand higher to remove her fingers from Darcy's hand. But Darcy's thumb was pressed lightly but firmly over Miss Bennet's three middle fingers, and he did not release them. Keeping her head straight ahead and without changing her expression, she placed her other foot on the ground, and took a step forward, as though to walk her fingers right out from beneath Darcy's thumb, but he still did not remove his thumb from her fingers. When she pivoted on her foot, so as to face him, Darcy saw an expression that hovered between anger and annoyance but moved no further than her eyes—the rest of her face was passive and serene. The moment she was facing him, he pressed slightly harder on her fingers and then let go, letting his hand drop to his side as he said, "A word please, Miss Bennet."

With his words, the shade of anger in her eyes was replaced by curiosity, and her left eyebrow went up, just as he'd observed it at the scene of the murder. However, without the tilt of her head, the arched brow, while still expressing inquisitiveness, had an air that hovered between haughtiness and amusement. Rather than being irritated by this, Darcy had to repress a smile at the lady's ability to communicate so much with so little movement and no sound.

When he remained silent, not because he was so distracted by that eyebrow, but because he was waiting for her to respond to his request to speak, she did tilt her head to the right. Her expression was exactly the same as the one he'd observed her making as she appeared to be first noticing something about the body. But this time, there was a decided air of impatience and disdain. While he waited for her to verbally acknowledge his request he tried to decide what about her countenance now made it so much more expressive than the neutral contemplation the same arrangement of features held before. He settled on it being a difference in the set of her mouth while both continued in silence, until she straightened her head, and raised both her eyebrows.

Deciding this was as close as permission to speak as he would receive, he nodded slightly and began, "I could not help but notice you standing quite close to the body, earlier this evening. And there was a spot upon which your gaze seemed to be fixed, almost as though you noticed something out of the ordinary. I would be indebted to you would you tell me of what it was you were taking note."

Elizabeth was impressed by the man's ability to maintain the patina of politeness in his speech, while entirely forgoing any need for questions or requests, choosing only to use statements and demands. "Yes," she responded, "I noted that the man had embroidery on the sleeve of his shirt."

Now Darcy used the two raised eyebrow request for information that she'd just used. It was not an expression he used frequently, or even had ever used previously, but he'd appreciated the effectiveness it had had with him.

"It was embroidery on the white lawn shirt not on the jacket."

Darcy simply kept his face unmoving, both eyebrows raised. It really was quite effective.

"Colored thread stitched into his shirt, just at the wrist."

Darcy released his eyebrows and began rubbing his forehead at one temple. It had been a long day, clearly and now it had resulted in his standing in front of a small estate in a town of no consequence, inquiring of an unexceptional young lady about a murder that she certainly had not been a witness to. "Indulge me Miss Bennet, with a man before you with his throat slit, why would you give any notice to the embroidery on his clothing?"

Elizabeth smiled slightly. His use of a question made her feel like she'd won this silly game she was secretly keeping score of, and now she could be free to ask a question, fully respond and put an end to the conversation with this ridiculous man. Looking at him, she did have to acknowledge that ridiculous could not be the best adjective to describe him, but she had not yet settled on the right one to fully encompass whatever her derision of him was.

"Have you ever observed embroidery at the wrist of a man's shirt? In England? A monogram in white thread perhaps. But a colored pattern?"

"I suppose I have not. Is this a style worn in France?"

"I don't believe so. On the jacket certainly, but not there on the sleeve. Besides, that specific pattern is specific to a region in the Americas."

Darcy raised his eyebrows again, higher this time. And he frowned. The expression was not asking a question, but conveying surprise. "And how is it, Miss Bennet, that you recognize regional embroidery of the Americas?"

Three questions in a row, and Elizabeth now marveled at the man's ability to make his questions haughtier and more demanding than his actual demands. "I observed it in a book. Additionally, I believe that pattern is meant to represent a berry, found only in the former colonies. It is my understanding that the berry is prized for its sweetness, but I am not able to confirm this, as I only have this knowledge from a book as well, and have no firsthand knowledge of the berry's flavor. Perhaps your American friend can shed further light on this topic."

"My American friend?" Mr. Darcy responded, who's expression which had been mirroring Elizabeth's in alternating between amusement and annoyance immediately became guarded and clouded over with suspicion.

"Yes, the tan, smaller man of your party."

"How did you know he was American?" asked Darcy, eyes narrowed, his severe expression having turned into a decided frownx.

"Sir, if I might inquire, why was it that you asked Mr. Bingley about where he had acquired his horse team?"

"How did you know the man was an American?"

Miss Bennet rolled back on her heels, smiling slightly. That was six in a row. "Well it wasn't his accent. Learning an American accent well enough to recognize from a book can be quite difficult. And here in Meryton we don't attract enough travelers for me to readily recognize one. Nor did his clothes give him away, as I would wager those were made in England. If he wished to conceal his true nationality, which given the current political climate is completely understandable, you'd do best to advise him to have his hair cut."

Elizabeth watched Darcy's frown deepen and her smile broadened in response. Before she was able to see if she would get to number seven, or receive an answer about Bingley's horses, her father stepped out to the portico.

"Pardon me, Sir. I'd be most appreciative if you, a gentleman, at least I presume a gentleman, because we've not been introduced, could explain how it is that you have come to be standing in front of my home at night time, speaking to one of my daughters."

Darcy who until this moment had had his eyes fixed on the face of Miss Bennet since he'd taken her fingers in his hand now turned to Mr. Bennet and opened his mouth to begin a dismissive sort of apology. But before he could begin speaking, Elizabeth spoke, and turning back to her, he saw she'd already moved into the light of the portico.

"Papa!" she said, in a sort of greeting that expressed a joy that Darcy had not yet witnessed from her. Reaching him on Longbourn's front step she raised onto her toes to gently kiss his cheek before continuing. "Mr. Darcy was hoping to borrow your book, The Textile Industry in the Colonies, as well as Edible Flora of the Americas. I think he may also find Embroidery Around the World useful."

It was not lost on Darcy that this was her first use of his name. Nor did he fail to note that she did not actually introduce him to her father.

Mr. Bennet gazed for a moment at his daughter, and smiled broadly. "Embroidery Around the World, eh?" His tone was dry, but his eyes indicated laughter.

"Yes." And she moved further into the door, before stopping and turning back to look at Darcy. "Oh, and he also expressed interest in that fashion magazine of hairstyles Kitty has gotten, and that silly Illustrated Adventures of the New World that is about the only book that has any historical accuracy that Lydia will ever read."

She gave Darcy a quick look that might have been wicked or it might have been laughing, dismissive, playful or outrageously flirtatious. He had no idea how to characterize what that look said. But just as quickly it was gone, and she bent her head and dipped her knees into a slight curtsey.

Darcy instantly leaned forward into a bow, and said "Miss Bennet," by way of goodnight. But upon raising his head he saw Elizabeth had already turned her back to him, and was disappearing into the house.

Elizabeth moved through the foyer towards her mother and sisters in the drawing room. She could hear them loudly recapping both the usual pleasures of an assembly room ball, and the more unusual ones that came with having a new party of fine handsome people amongst their numbers, that is in addition to the unexpected event of having the ball interrupted by a violent murder, of course.

She felt a momentary pang, which she supposed was guilt. She really ought to have properly introduced Mr. Darcy to her father, it was decidedly impolite not to. But the level of that man's incivility from the moment he'd come into her presence was beyond anything she had previously experienced. He'd not only pushed the boundary of polite society, but his absurd inquisition stretched basic expectations of propriety. Nothing short of his accusing her of the murder could rightfully warrant such rude, haughty behavior. Yes, she'd had quite enough of Mr. Darcy for one evening, and with any luck, she'd fulfilled all obligation to spend any further time in that man's presence for the rest of her life.

 **AN: First time with an fanfiction or mystery writing, but it's so fun and exciting to see all those views. Thank you for reading! I really appreciate the follows, favorites and of course the reviews. Thank you every one who's taken the time to write one! And Pier, I particularly appreciate you catching mistakes. I've fixed the ones you pointed out. Thank you!**

 **So you know what you're getting into here, this is a murder mystery set in the universe of Pride and Prejudice. However, this whole tale will end before Jane and Elizabeth's Netherfield stay. That one will be it's own murder (or two!). It's a series. Which means that (for the most part) the end will provide a solution to the whodoneit, but what it won't provide is a happily ever after for any couples. Hoping to establish a will-they, won't-they dynamic between Elizabeth and Darcy. Obviously, they will. But it will take quite awhile, and quite a lot of bodies to get there.**


	6. Chapter 6

"So, an embroidery enthusiast? I know we've not been introduced, but nonetheless, on first sight I would not have guessed that about you."

Darcy looked at the man who spoke to him. The expression he wore on his face was quite severe, and the tone of his voice serious. But when he looked at the man's eyes, he could see laughter. In fact, there was a marked resemblance between the man and Elizabeth Bennet. It wasn't so much in features as it was in expression.

"Sir, I apologize for my intrusion. It is a set of extreme circumstances that has required me to accompany your wife and daughters here and to trespass on your evening. I am Mr. Darcy, of Derbyshire. I stay at Netherfield Hall, as Mr. Bingley's guest. I believe you have met that gentleman."

"Yes, yes. Extreme circumstances? And yet you have found the time to discuss embroidery with my Lizzy."

"Sir," Darcy attempted to make reply. Obviously, the man was Mr. Bennet, but as he'd neither been introduced, nor introduced himself, Darcy felt unsure how to address this man. He also was unable to gauge his anger, and he did feel the man had every right to be angry.

"Well get to it. I suppose we ought to begin with those extreme circumstances, before discussing embroidery. Perhaps I ought to be quite concerned that my wife, who never returns from a ball without at least a full hour's expressions on her thoughts of the lace worn there, has instead been speaking of spilled blood. And stepping outside of my house, I find there a strange gentleman discussing needlework with one of my daughters. What am I to make of this?"

"Sir, yes, there was an incident at the ball. A man, the driver of the coach in which my party traveled to the ball has lost his life, and unfortunately this event took place directly in front of the inn in which the dance was being held."

"And it must have been quite a violent accident to have my wife and daughters speaking so much about blood. Or does she exaggerate." The man studied him closely.

Darcy could not help but feel at a disadvantage, having still not completed proper introductions. But his patience was ebbing. He was wearying of trying to placate this man. He still had much to do before he could claim any rest, and it would not do for him to spend any more time having an odd conversation, with this strange country gentleman.

"It was no accident, Sir." The expression that flitted across his interlocutor's face was brief, the same time as it would take a man to flinch, and so Darcy was not able to definitively name the emotion it contained. But he supposed he'd call it shock or surprise or even dread, before the man's features quickly returned to their strange sort of combination of bored amusement.

Mr. Bennet, for Mr. Bennet it was, sighed heavily, although Darcy felt that sound was much more for show than the momentary flicker of feeling he'd inadvertently expressed. He then stood back from the door and gestured with a flourish, indicating Darcy should enter the home.

Darcy continued to linger on the doorstep. He wanted to get back to the body, conclude his examination of the scene and make certain that the man who was his responsibility was secure.

"Come now, not an accident and a man is dead. You speak of murder, and that is no topic for people to discuss skulking about doorways late at night. At least not a topic fit for virtuous gentlemen. Besides, the books you would like to borrow are inside."

"Mr. Bennet, if I might be so bold as to presume that is how I ought to address you, yes you are quite correct. Murder it is, and while I do believe your daughter to be correct, and those books may well be helpful to the investigation, at this moment, time is of the essence and I am committed to helping further. This means returning to the scene. And certainly, you are owed an explanation, but I beg of you to let me return tomorrow, and until then, I feel quite confident, that though my acquaintance with your daughter has been brief, she is quite capable of imparting to you as much of the relevant events of tonight as am I."

Mr. Bennet nodded and said, "Well if someone must ride off into the night in search of a murderer, I would much rather it be you than me. Off with you then, and I shall expect your call on the morrow."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Ok so a couple of notes. I changed the name of John Smith to John Brown. I have not yet gone back to correct this in the earlier, posted chapters, because I know I need a complete edit in all of that, and I still might need to change a major plot point, which I am still trying to work out fully as I finalize the outline for the whole thing. But I do apologize. It's not meant to be some sort of clue that the man's name has changed, and I do hate how sloppy it is. It's something of a pet peeve of mine when people's characters' names change mid-story. But sharing writing is always an exercise in humility.**

 **That said, thank you so much to all the JAFF world out there. It truly is an awesome community, and I so appreciate the reviews, follows, favorites, and just anyone who comes and visits and reads the story. That is also humbling but in a really exciting way.**

 **An unfortunate fact that I am sure many a writer here can fully empathize with, I am my own worst proofreader. There's just something about reading your own writing (at least my own writing) that makes dumb typos and sloppy grammar errors made in the heat of flurried writing suddenly become invisible. I very much appreciate people who take the time to kindly point out errors they find. I am writing as I go, at the moment, but I do have further mysteries mapped out, and would like to get ahead of the game at some point. If anyone is interested in beta-ing for me, drop me a line, and once I get advanced copies going, I'd be happy to send you them and include you in acknowledgments in all future publications of the story. Thank you!**

While Darcy rode hard back to Meryton, Elizabeth joined her mother and sisters in the drawing room, her father following close behind. By the time Mr. Bennet had entered the room, Mrs. Bennet had seemed to entirely have exhausted her interest in the bloody portion of the evening's events and had in fact returned to her favored subject, lace.

But just as she was about to give her estimate of the cost of the lace that adorned Mrs. Hurst's gown, she was interrupted by her husband, "after close to a quarter century of marriage I had thought there was not so much left to learn about you, Mrs. Bennet, but how long being witness to a violent murder might occupy your thoughts before you return your attention fully to remembering the more pleasant subject of what generally is entailed with a ball."

"Oh Mr. Bennet, you do exaggerate, just to tease me. I was not witness to a murder. None of us were, although by the looks of it, that Mr. Darcy treated our Lizzy as though she had been. What does that man think, interrogating her like that. And after he had insulted her in front of the entire room."

"Insulted my Lizzy? Pray Mrs. Bennet how did he do that?"

"Why after refusing to stand up with her in front of all of Meryton, that odious man had the nerve to walk right up to her later in the evening and decry her unattractive."

"Lizzy, is this true."

But before Elizabeth could answer, Mrs. Bennet interrupted as she was not yet done recounting the crimes of Mr. Darcy. "Of course, Lizzy is not as beautiful as Jane, not lively as Lydia, but like all my girls, she's certainly attractive enough to agree to a dance. What a proud, disagreeable man."

"Papa, truly, it made no difference to me. He clearly did not want to dance, and why he chose to be out in company at all is as much a mystery as who killed that poor coach driver. My pride would be hurt had I cared for his good opinion, but I do not, so I shall take the insult as a means of my own amusement."

"Well if I were you, I should never stand up with that proud Mr. Darcy, even if he should ask you to dance."

"Ma'am, as unlikely as that should be, I can safely promise you never to dance with Mr. Darcy."

Just as Mr. Darcy had ceased being the topic of discussion in the Longbourn drawing room, the man had arrived back at the crime scene, and dismounting from the borrowed horse, he approached Bingley.

"And Brown? He is not still about is he?"

"Goodness, Darcy, you saw him as well as I did, riding back to Netherfield with my sisters and brother. I would think you would ask about the welfare of my sisters before inquiring after Brown, he seems a man perfectly able to look after himself, certainly as well as you or I."

"Of course, Bingley, I am certain your sisters made it safely back to Netherfield, I only meant to ask if Brown had returned here, have you seen him since he set out for Netherfield."

"No, I have not. And the Bennet ladies? I assume you saw them safely back to Longbourn."

"Of course, and I spoke with Mr. Bennet. I shall have to call on him on the morrow."

"That is well, I shall go with you to ensure the shock of witnessing this has not been too great to Miss Bennet."

As Darcy frowned at his friend, Bingley added, "and to all her sisters as well. And her mother."

"And where is Sir William?"

"He has returned home. He has decided that as much of value as can be observed has been, and now I am waiting for the undertaker to arrive. It is my responsibility as the man was in my employ."

"Quite right," replied Darcy as he circled around the gruesome tableau that the carriage, horses and driver now made, trying to ascertain if indeed there was no further information to be gleaned.

The man's throat had been cleanly slit, and it appeared to have been done from behind. For a moment, Darcy did wish that Brown was still present. He lacked the experience to properly read all that was before him.

"Bingley, do you know who the undertaker on who we wait is? Is he a medical man?"

"Usually no, but Meryton's undertaker is away visiting relatives. It is the apothecary who will come and take the body. His assistant will prepare the man for burial."

"Well, that is at least one stroke of luck. Although I must say, for an apothecary he is uncommonly slow. I should think he would be better prepared to treat an ill patient, even if it is the dead of night."

"I believe the man is currently treating a boy who had fallen from a horse and broken a leg earlier tonight. I imagine he is not in such a rush to arrive here, as the services this man requires are not particularly time sensitive."

Darcy colored slightly. His impatience had made him sound foolish. It was this new project in which he was engaged. There was nothing he liked about it. Were it simply a matter of a lack of his own enjoyment that would not be a problem, but the very nature of the business was against all he believed to be right.

"I apologize Bingley, it has been a long night, and it will be well when it is over and we can all retire to our beds. But your night has been just as long as my own, and it is no reason for me to be short with you."

"It's no matter, this has indeed been unpleasant for all of us."

Almost all of the onlookers had since departed from the scene, preferring their own homes once the initial excitement of the macabre scene had worn off. While the two men waited, Darcy continued circling about the carriage and horses, his eyes narrow.

"Well Bingley, I don't suppose the horses need to be kept harnessed to the wagon. What shall we do, ride two of them home or leave all four in town?"

"My sisters sent Hurst's carriage back, we will take that home and I thought to tie all four to the carriage."

"All four? That seems rather unwieldy."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Let's board two here in town and take the other two home with us."

"Bingley, I must say, I don't like this."

"The murder? And I must say it would be of grave concern were you to like it."

"Does it not strike you as very different from a murder."

"A man is dead, his throat slit, it seems as clear a case of murder as possible."

"Well yes, but not a typical murder."

"A typical murder?"

"Well it seems as though there are usually two reasons to kill people. For passion and love or for money. There is no passion in this murder."

"No? But there is so much blood."

"Yes, but look at what a clean cut it is. And there was no struggle. The man sits almost as if he is still waiting, but his throat slit. I suppose it is a mercy that he never saw his assailant coming."

"Well, had you asked it would seem extremely unlikely that it was done in a fit of passion in any case. I would all but swear this is certainly not the work of a woman."

"No that is unlikely, but think of the other possibility. A murder for money."

"Well to be honest, that is what I had assumed. Some brigand who came far too close to town for anyone's comfort. That was why I was so concerned that all of the ladies should be seen safely home."

"It is just that the way the throat is slit, the clean cut, well I shall have to wait for the opinion of the apothecary, but it seems a professional job."

"Good God, Darcy, a professional slit of the throat? That is a gruesome thought, indeed. But I suppose in a matter of speaking, a thief is a kind of professional."

"Perhaps, but not like this. Why should a professional thief come so far into town. To rob a coachman waiting outside of a ball in a market town? Why should he assume he had any purse worth taking?"

"Clearly the man was desperate. It does no good to try and understand the mind of a killer."

"But Bingley, do you see, that is the problem. If he were desperate he is unprofessional, he was acting hasty, but I will wager that this kind of attack was anything but hasty. And when you add to that how unlikely the entire setting is, that in all of the crowd of servants and townspeople hanging about in front of the Assembly Hall, not a single person witnessed the murder, or saw a suspicious, bloody villain depart."

"I suppose when you put it like that, it does seem curious indeed, however, I suppose it must be accounted for by luck, an unfortunate sort of luck on the part of the murderer."

"I don't believe in luck Bingley. There are too many factors. No one is quite that lucky."

"Then what say you caused the man's death. Some demon or monster is about. Darcy, there is a reasonable explanation."

"Of course there is Bingley, and it is that this is no common murder. The man was assassinated."


End file.
